He smelled of soap, felt-tip pens, and childhood.
Behind him, Claire stood in the doorway, her eyes red.
Julien was there, too, looking a little uncomfortable, with shopping bags hanging from both hands.
He kissed my cheek.
“Mireille,” he said, “I wanted to apologize as well. I was resting without realizing that you never got to rest.”
He didn’t make a long speech.
He didn’t try to explain everything away.
And somehow, that made his apology feel more sincere.
Sometimes a simple apology is worth more than a grand performance.
We ate in my small kitchen.
They had brought a quiche, salad, fresh bread, and fruit.
I did almost nothing.
At first, I found it uncomfortable.
My hands kept itching to get up, cut the bread, serve the food, and clear the plates.
Then Claire placed her hand gently over mine.
“Sit down, Mom. We’ll take care of it.”
So I sat.
